Author; Tallulah.

(for the hp link, please see under the section 'links' and search for tallulah)

Pairings: Maglor/Erestor.

Summary: Maglor gets more than what he bargained for. Erestor gets less.

Rating: NC-17

Feedback: would be lovely.

Disclaimer: “The Saddest Song” is the title of a Morphine song, quoted before the text (Sandman was brilliant).

Author’s Notes: Written for the LoM board Secret Santa, for Azzy, who asked for Maglor/Erestor or any Fëanorian/Erestor.

I owe more than a simple ‘thank you’ to Elfscribe, for her amazing (and extraordinarily quick) work in this fic. Through her advice and sharp eye this fic become much more than the very rough-edged and amorphous pile of words I had sent her. Thank you, sweets: it was fun, instructive, challenging and... fun. ;) All remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.

The Saddest Song

~~~~~~

Havens of Sirion, First Age 532

A crash in the night, two worlds collide.

When two worlds collide no one survives.

Sandman

And so it was. In the mere space of two hours, Erestor had gone from the pampered youngest son of a lord to being an orphaned slave with an uncertain fate. His hands were bound behind his back and a rough soldier pushed him forward relentlessly through the remains of his home.

The stone-paved ground was stained red; he kept slipping in the blood of his father, his mother, his sisters, his friends, his teachers, his servants, the strangers he had yet to know. Bodies were spread on the streets. A woman lay with her throat slit; he knew her from his escapades to the market. She often gave him an orange and a wink, even now that he was almost an adult. A child ran crying. Soot covered his face, but Erestor could have sworn the little boy was the son of a maid from the palace; his mother was nowhere to be seen. The air smelled of burning; he saw the clouds of smoke rising above the roofs, no more silos then. Those who had survived would starve. All this for a pretty trinket, a stupid stone that most of the dead had never seen in the first place. The soldier pushed him harder, until they had waded through the screams, the blood and the death, and reached the outskirts where white tents were already standing.

He had heard them shouting. He could not understand it all as it was in the ancient tongue, but the words ‘twins’ and ‘boys’ were repeated several times by the soldiers and by the tall redhead who could only be one person – Fëanor’s eldest son, Maedhros. But Maedhros would never discover their whereabouts from him. Firstly, because he did not know. His father stuffed him into a forgotten pantry early on the attack and locked it from the outside. He had protested but his father said he had no time; he had to find their lady and her sons. Secondly, because even if he did, hate would give him enough strength to endure whatever torture they put him through. He would not betray the boys.

The soldier stopped him in front of a dark haired elf whose visage showed clear affinity with the redhead. Another one of Fëanor’s evil spawn, then. Tall and thin, wiry even, and lacking the bright colouring of his brother, the elf didn’t seem that impressive. He rubbed his temple, his hand partially obscuring his chiselled features, but Erestor could see deep lines between his eyebrows and around his lips. He looked strangely old and worn for an elf, reminding Erestor of a middle-aged man. Erestor wondered which one of the lot he was.

“My Lord Maglor,” the soldier called.

Maglor turned, and after one brief look at Erestor, he protested, “But he’s just a child.”

The soldier shrugged and pushed Erestor to his knees. “He was in the palace. He must know of the hiding places.”

Maglor sighed. “What is your name, child?” he asked Erestor in butchered Sindarin.

Erestor spat. He had hoped the rage would propel his saliva and spite as high as Maglor’s face but, sadly, it landed only on Maglor’s robes.

He felt a blow at the back of the head and fell into a state of semi-unconsciousness, where he could only see black and hear Maglor speaking fast and furiously with the soldier. His senses returned to him, but he stayed quiet on the ground. He heard them walking a few steps away and he tensed, preparing his escape, trying to judge the best moment to leave in a race he had little hope of winning. As the other’s voice grew faint, he opened his eyes, inspected carefully his surroundings and sprung up in a desperate run. He could hear the voices behind him, the others chasing, alerting those ahead of him but he was already near the woods, and after the woods there would be the small cove where there were caves in the cliffs, and where he could be lost from their sight and live to tell his tale of ignominy to whomever wanted to listen to it.

He out-feinted them all. He heard them, he even felt a hand grasping his shirt, but he pulled free. And he did what he thought impossible: he reached the woods. They still chased him but now they were fewer and this was territory familiar only to him. The distance from the voices grew and he dared hoping. He took the shortest path to the cliffs. His lungs were starting to burn, but he kept on running and running until he saw the entrance to the first cave. He glanced back, but he could see no one behind him. All the sounds were still in the woods and fading. He decided to take the risk and run for the larger cave, where there was always a small boat and some supplies. Then he would only have to wait for nightfall.

He ran on for a few meters until the darkness stopped him. Putting his hands to his knees, he panted until he could catch his breath. He followed the narrow corridor in the dark, carefully reaching for the walls. He felt the boat and sighed with relief, but when he found the torch on the wall and managed to light it, his heat sunk: the hull of the boat was broken. He went on, trying to reach the central dome where he could gather the supplies and stay out of sight for the night. Exhaustion eventually drove him to a few hours of sleep but he awoke before dawn with a nightmare.

Shivering in the cold mist, he moved stealthily through the beach, into the woods. Erestor would have to walk long before he could find the first village, but he knew of other shelters on the way, if need arose. He walked briskly for a long time. By mid-morning he felt hungry so he decided to find a place to stop. The safest place was not the nearest, but he decided it was well worth the extra walk. He headed for a stream, guiding his steps by the sounds of the water, and then followed it through the trees until he could hear the waterfall roar. He almost ran for safety, but just before leaving the sanctuary of the trees, he heard voices.

Moving quietly, he hid behind a rock, then took a peek. Maglor and Maedhros stood close to the waterline with their backs turned to him, the hilts of their swords shining ominously by their sides. In the water was one of the Peredhil children. Maglor was cooing at him, trying to coax him out of the water.

The boy, tall and mature for his ten years of age, looked fearful, but he slowly took a step and then another, as if drawn. Even from where he was spying, Erestor could hear clearly Maglor’s voice, mellifluous, soothing, seemingly kind. He wasn’t surprised: that voice was legendary. When his songs were sung in Elwing’s hall the minstrels excused themselves profusely for not doing them justice; the boys wished they had his voice, though they’d never heard it, to woo the maids; the elders discussed heatedly who was the better minstrel, Daeron or Maglor. But Erestor had little interest in Maglor, his music or his voice and he didn’t trust it for one minute. He was tempted to shout for the boy to run, but he hesitated, fearing that it would spark violence against the child. Maedhros grabbed the child and held him tightly. The boy started crying and the eldest twin surfaced from behind the waterfall, shouting “Let him go!” Fear burned within Erestor.

Maglor ran to the older twin and picked him up. Erestor bowed his head. Now everything was lost. He had expected the evil Fëanorians to summarily execute the children as a revenge for not having obtained the Silmaril but instead they seemed to be trying to calm the boys.

Erestor heard Maglor ask the boys their names. They glanced at each other and shook their heads. Maglor smiled bitterly. “Fine,” he said, “we will find you new names,” he said to the boys.

Maedhros looked at him surprised.

“Nelyo,” Maglor said wearily, “If I am to take care of them at least allow me not to be reminded everyday of whom they belong to.”

Maedhros nodded. “You’re right.”

“You,” Maglor looked at the youngest boy, “will be Elros, and you Elrond.” The boys remained in obstinate silence.

Erestor jumped out from behind the rock. “Wait!”

The Fëanorian brothers looked back in surprise. Erestor stood trembling. “I’m going where they’re going,” he said.

“This is the boy from yesterday,” Maglor said to Maedhros.

Maedhros looked at him appreciatively and then said, “Come.”

Relief flooded Erestor as he followed them, hurrying to catch up with their long strides. At least the twins had been spared. More than familiar obligation, for they were only distantly related, he felt a deep affection for the children of his lord and lady. He had often played with them, although he was much older and he had helped them with their learning and their mischief. And now he should follow them, take care of them, and ensure that they would live and never forget what had been so thoroughly destroyed or their true names or where they came from.

They had horses in a clearing a few minutes away. They put the children on one and led him by the reins back to the Havens. Erestor felt like he could fall at the next step but he managed to stay on his feet until they reached the Fëanorian camp.

Erestor’s heart jumped when Maedhros asked Maglor, “What do you want to do with the boy?” raising an eyebrow in his direction while he took the twins from their horse. Immediately the twins ran to him and Elros cried “Erestor!”

“Ah, now that we have the honour of a name perhaps we can keep him to take care of the children.” Maedhros said. “What do you think, Macalaurë? He has proven his ability.”

Maglor nodded. “We can try. Let’s hope that he doesn’t try to run away again.”

Erestor had the sense to remain quiet, but he was glad. At least the children would have someone who cared for them near, someone who could remind them about their home and their parents and what had been done to them.

Maglor took them to his tent. “You’d better rest all you can today and tomorrow because after that we will ride back home,” he said to Erestor. “Put the children in the spare cot and you can take mine.”

Erestor felt himself chill. “I have no intention of becoming your catamite!” he said, backing into a corner with the twins behind him.

Maglor frowned. “You flatter yourself.” He shrugged, but it was clear he was annoyed. “Suit yourself, you can have the ground.” He sat at an improvised desk, his back turned to them and worked for a long while. Then he rose and said, “I’ll find us something to eat. Don’t try to escape. I doubt you will succeed this time.”

Erestor still sat by the cot. He fisted his hands but said nothing. He knew Maglor was right.

Maglor returned with the food and then sat at his desk while the children ate. He worked the whole night through, sometimes whispering words that Erestor couldn’t comprehend. At length, Erestor fell asleep. When he woke in the morning, there was a blanket around his shoulders. The twins had wet the bed, something they had stopped doing several years before. Maglor sent for water and Erestor cleaned them. Maglor watched in silence. For a moment Erestor thought that remorse was stamped on his face, but then he turned to his desk where he stayed for the rest of the day, showing very little interest in the camp life or the preparations for the funerary rites for those fallen in battle. From the words of the sentinels outside the tent he understood that Maglor’s youngest brothers had perished too. He was glad for it, but he couldn’t help wondering what kind of brother would sit and write when his brothers lay in their caskets. Sometimes he stopped writing and just held his head between his hands. Then he sighed and continued.

Around dusk, Maedhros sent for Maglor. He ordered Erestor and the twins to stay in the tent, but Erestor could hear chanting. They were burning the bodies of the fallen, both sides alike; the stench of the pyres permeated everything.

A couple of hours later, Maglor returned to his desk, silently, and sat there the whole night, staring at the paper. The tent was quiet again for a long while. The twins slept a fitful sleep and Erestor was dozing off when Maglor spoke softly without turning. “What I said yesterday, about escaping... it still holds for this journey. You can try and you can even achieve it but I highly doubt you would survive in the wilds with two children or even alone for long. And if you try to reach other realms, remember that they have guards and that they may shoot first and ask questions later. I say this for your own good.”

“I am not stupid.”

Nothing further was said. Frustration and humiliation gnawed at Erestor but he knew Maglor was right. He was a captive now and he would have to learn to live with it. But he vowed that one day he would escape the Fëanorian grasp. He would do it and he would take the twins with him, no matter what it cost. But he first had to gather his strength and wait for Maglor’s guard to drop. He could be patient, he would be patient.

They started their long travel early the next morning, heading east with the sun in their eyes. They lunched on their horses, and only stopped for the night. In the morning, it started all over again. To Erestor the journey seemed endless. He spent his time caring for the children and observing the sombre crowd. At first he had been quite tense all the time, not trusting Maglor’s words. Everyone knew of the reputation the Fëanorians had for brutality, drunken debauchery, sexual corruption of the captive boys and girls, and other heinous deeds of the same ilk. But the days passed and Maglor’s behaviour toward him was very much the same as in the previous days. He also feared Maedhros and all their soldiers. None paid him too much attention, none, in fact beyond what strictly needed.

Often, when night fell, he would witness drunkenness, bitter and lonely, but never wild and orgiastic he had been told about. He waited fearfully for the day where the wall of sadness and despair the Fëanorian soldiers exhibited to fall to show their true colours. They never did. Instead, one crafted a toy for the boys. Another gave them a sweet. Erestor felt like tearing those small bribes away from the boys’ hands, and throwing them at their captors, but he contained himself when he saw the tiny smiles flicker in their faces. Why did these people insist in on being normal, even kind, when they were not?

At night they would gather in small fires before retiring to their tents. Maglor always kept Erestor and the twins close to him and Maedhros often joined them. They talked with each other and Erestor listened. He wished then that he had paid more attention to his father’s lessons of the tongue of the west, but then he had dismissed it as boring and useless. Still he understood enough and as they progressed along the journey, even more.

“Was it worth it?” Maglor asked one night to Maedhros. Erestor lay in the ground near the fire holding the twins to keep them warm in their slumber.

“Don’t start that again,” Maedhros said.

“Nelyo... ” Erestor missed the murmured words, but he heard distinctly Maedhros’s reply.

“I know,” he said in a tired voice. “But I think we both know that he would have wanted us to go on.”

“I know. Don’t you hate that they never speak of him?” Erestor understood that he meant his father, the one that had started the madness. He clenched his fists.

As if reading his thoughts, Maedhros replied, “They talk of him all right, but they seem to forget exactly who he was. If they only knew... And they think it’s greed that drives his mad sons on. Can’t they see what this has meant to us?”

“It has cost us dearly, true,” Maglor replied pensively. “Hence my question,” he added as an afterthought. “It seems so easy, doesn’t it? He’s dead, an oath is just words, the Valar would forgive. But it’s not quite like that, now is it?”

“Leave it, brother,” Maedhros said. “It is done and it binds us and it always will. In a way I can’t regret it.”

“I know.”

The brothers sat in silence, until Maglor rose and gently extricated a twin from Erestor’s arms. He pretended to be asleep; he yawned and rose to his feet taking the other twin with him to the tent. He could not understand the conversation he had heard. They spoke with deep regret in their voices but not in their words. They spoke of duty to an oath, love to a father. What were those compared to rivers of blood?

They crossed many rivers, passed towns, ran into a few bands of Orcs. One day they started heading northeast and then they crossed yet another river. Maglor informed him, “We’re home.”

No they weren’t. By Maglor’s own hand, Erestor’s home had ceased to exist, but Erestor was too numb to reply. They rode for a few more days and came to Maglor’s house. It was a square building of dark stone, rugged, unadorned and bleak, only slightly larger than the rest of the houses in the village, not even what one would call a manor. Erestor though it fitted Maglor perfectly. Inside it was cold and dark, but some rooms had large south-facing windows. Maglor gave one of those to the children and another to Erestor. The furniture was dark as the rest, but comfortable and soon the fireplaces dismissed the cold and the grimness.

Erestor wasn’t too surprised to see that the brothers were welcomed with glee. Even killers are loved by someone. But it disgusted him nonetheless that these people were so corrupted that they would esteem the lives of the thrice-kin slayers and live happily under their leadership.

His father had never quite convinced him that Fëanor and his sons had not always been evil as Morgoth Bauglir. “One day you will see that there is more to the story, my son,” he had often said when the topic was broached. Erestor thought his father saw him in these occasions as slightly dim-witted or perhaps too stubborn, which were about the same in his account. Well, his father was dead now, with his mother and his sister and brothers. All dead.

The next week Maedhros headed north, to Himring. His men had rested enough and were eager to return to their homes. Erestor was left alone with Maglor and the twins and was glad for it. The less of them, the better and it was safe enough inside Maglor’s walls. He had little help, just a cook and two maids to do the cleaning and washing.

In the first week, Maglor spent his mornings writing in his room, alone, and in the afternoons he received those who sought audience, or he rode out and found occupation with his people. Erestor was left alone with the children and started building a simple routine to hold the days together. The boys lacked enthusiasm for playing but slowly, they started exploring their surroundings. From a tower in the top of the house, Erestor could see that after the small group of houses, there was nothing but vastness, grassland speckled by the occasional village if six or seven houses put together could be called that. He would need horses. He would also need time to prepare, but he had time and a surprisingly high degree of freedom.

That feeling of freedom ended the next week. Maglor seemed to remind himself that he had children in his care. He wanted to know if they could read. How were their arithmetic and their history? Did they know something about geography? And of the tongues of elves and men? Erestor spat out his answers within the minimal requirements of courtesy. There was no point in irking his host. Maglor nodded, and called to the boys. They approached him, still fearful, and he tried to start a conversation with them.

During the voyage to Maglor’s home, Erestor had noted the effort he made to be gentle to the children but no real rapport between them had arisen. Now he was really trying to captivate the boys. Erestor was almost pleased when Elros hid his face in Elrond’s shoulder, sniffling. Maglor tried to pat his shoulder, only making the elfling more shy. Erestor ran to them and gave Maglor a chilly look.

“Never mind,” Maglor said, “we will start again tomorrow.”

And, true to his words, the next day after lunch he called the boys again. This time he took them to the stables and showed them ponies. Erestor watched from a few feet away how the boys’ shyness and fear thawed a little. They reached eager little hands and petted the animals.

“These will be yours,” Maglor said. “I think you will like them a lot better than those big beasts we travelled upon.” Elros shrugged but Elrond was already seduced. They spent the rest of the afternoon preparing the animals, then riding them for a little while, and then grooming them. Erestor watched, pursing his lips: the kin slayer was buying the children off. But deep inside he felt joy at Elrond’s incipient smile and a little gratitude to whatever power above made Maglor want to treat them kindly.

The next day Maglor took the boys to a small library and sat them on stools in front of a large table covered with maps. He started a game with them, trying to get them to identify the places in the maps and tell a little about them. Erestor was glad that Maglor had enough sense to put away the maps of the coastline.

Days went by in this fashion, Maglor teaching, slowly captivating the boys; Elrond eager and ready to learn the new and forget the old; Elros following carefully; Erestor torn between some satisfaction that they were treated kindly and a sharp anger. On some days, they went outside, on others days they stayed in. Erestor always watched, but nothing more than a few words were ever exchanged between himself and Maglor.

With time, Erestor started noting the small things: Maglor’s smile so bright and warm to the children often faded quickly when they left; that he carefully avoided all lore regarding his family, except when there was absolutely no other way around it; that he never spoke of Aman, although the twins had often asked him to, and Erestor himself longed to hear of it. Erestor started thinking that these and other things meant regret. Maglor suffered for his ill deeds. Better yet, Maglor found little joy or comfort in his life. It was not nearly enough to appease Erestor’s heart but it was a consolation to know Maglor miserable. He only hoped that the same was true for his brother.

Years passed. Whether children forget or forgive quickly was not of consequence, faced with the result. Erestor watched as both boys slowly created a space in their hearts for Maglor. And he watched himself softening. He felt repulsion for himself when he realised what he was doing. First he postponed his plans for an escape because the children were still too small. Two years passed and the boys grew as no elven child did. He still waited. The year was being particularly harsh, both in winter and in summer. Three years passed. He saw the boys falling for Maglor’s spell and he tried to approach them about leaving. Blank stares told him to try later. They had found a home of sorts and they might as well finish growing up there. They had lost their parents once; Erestor felt reluctant to take them from the father they had found there, however unworthy he was. Five years passed and nothing changed, except him, who no longer found in himself the will to hate Maglor continuously. Sometimes he even forgot to hate him for a whole day. Sometimes he felt pity in his heart. And then he cried bitterly at his betrayal of the dead.

There was still a canyon between him and Maglor, however. Not that Maglor hadn’t tried to build a bridge through their shared love for the children, but Erestor had always held him at bay, even when he felt compassion. The same did not held true for others. He didn’t call them friends but Erestor had in fact earned the esteem of many with whom he lived and worked. Maglor had started by giving him small tasks in the household and Erestor had become better acquainted with the staff. They adored Maglor; Erestor didn’t understand. Maglor always seemed a bit detached, but the cook lived to prepare his favourite dishes and the maids often chattered about small kindnesses that Erestor would have thought insignificant.

As Maglor’s trust in him increased, so did the importance of his tasks. Within his reserve against the Fëanorians, Erestor had made friends with most of the people that crossed his way, from traders to village chiefs, to the widows of the fallen who came to collect their money. He had also made friends with Maglor’s stable hand, a boy of around his age named Tinnutiro and he had grown fonder and fonder of spending his time in the stables.

Then one day a messenger came from Himring requesting an immediate audience with Maglor. No one ever disturbed Maglor’s mornings, spent alone in his room, but this seemed to be urgent enough. Erestor took it upon himself to call for Maglor. He knocked and when no answer came forth, he entered. Maglor was not in his study. Erestor went on quietly. The door to the bathing room was open and he could see that it was empty. He passed another small room full of bookshelves and peeked into Maglor’s room. Maglor was lying in the bed, his hand moving at his crotch. Erestor turned his face and stepped back. Nothing he hadn’t done himself, but he simply didn’t want to know. But he dared another glance; there was something odd about Maglor’s face as if he wasn’t particularly enjoying the act. Maglor’s hand had stopped moving. Erestor saw him falling to the bed, a deep sigh making his body look smaller. He realised that despite Maglor’s efforts, the organ in his hand was a dead thing, limp, wizened, dry, something that was far from the smallest of pleasures.

Erestor retreated quietly and then when safely in the outer room called out, “Maglor!” He heard clothes rustling and when he entered the room, Maglor sat in the bed perfectly composed.

“A messenger from your brother awaits you below.”

Maglor nodded and lowered his head. “I will be there in a minute.”

Erestor stood by the door. It wasn’t the first time he felt pity for Maglor but he had rarely seen him so forlorn. He knew he should be glad the kin slayer wasn’t allowed even the simple pleasure of his hand but he saw in Maglor more than that: he saw the most complete picture of loneliness he had ever seen. Except for himself. So when Maglor took a deep breath and rose from the bed, Erestor still stood at the door, looking. Maglor passed him by with the slow steps of old men. Erestor reached up and squeezed his shoulder. Maglor stopped for an instant. He was already by the door when Erestor heard a faint, “Thank you.” He didn’t know if it was for the message or the comfort. Maglor left and closed the door.

After some rumination, Erestor made a reasonable effort to let the incident slip from his mind. He would have succeeded, if it hadn’t been for the maids of the house. They were an idle pair and often spent more time in the kitchen in deep gossip than in the rooms cleaning and ordering. Maglor didn’t seem to mind it. Erestor was sitting by the kitchen door, eating a simple lunch before he left on an errand, when they entered chattering as always. He nodded to them politely and returned his attention to his plate. After a cheerful “Hello, Erestor,” they walked to the far end of the kitchen to join the cook and continued their conversation in low voices that nevertheless Erestor could still hear. The eldest one said, “As I was saying, I have never known that Lord Maglor had anyone, maiden or boy, ever since coming to these shores.”

“That is impossible and you know it well. He is in the fullness of his strength. I can’t believe he sleeps alone every night.”

“You do the laundry...”

“Yes, but he may not spend his nights in his bed.”

“Gah!” the eldest exclaimed. “I’m telling you, no one.”

Erestor finished his meal and left. In the years he had been in Maglor’s house he hadn’t devoted much thought to his host’s love life, after the initial relief of knowing he would not suffer from his attentions. But in his long stay with the Fëanorians he had learned that not all that was said about them was true. Most of them, in fact, seemed to be devoted to their families, not at all the sexual predators and insatiable killers he and many others thought them to be. No one kept young boys for pleasure as he had heard, not even during the long travel from the Havens to Himring where they had brought some of the survivors with them.

He had attributed Maglor’s lack of interest in him to a general preference for maidens and had forgotten the thought quickly enough. Now he realised that Maglor was free to take whom he wanted but he hadn’t. With the passing of time, Erestor had come to know all of Maglor’s routines and there was simply no space for a lover there. Maybe what Erestor had witnessed was a permanent condition and not an isolated incident.

Intrigued, Erestor started watching Maglor more closely, trying to figure exactly what lay beneath all that aloofness, if anything. He found himself staring at Maglor, wandering in the halls near his rooms, spending more time with the twins when they took their lessons. But after a week of scrutiny, Maglor remained elusive and Erestor decided to quit.

In the afternoon, he met Tinnutiro. Their friendship had remained superficial, though fond, but lately it seemed to have changed. Sometimes their hands brushed; sometimes the boy was too solicitous; and sometimes Erestor stayed for far too long in the stables. He wanted more, yet he didn’t. He had always known that he liked boys, not girls, but for a long time all things of that sort had left his mind. Then he had felt the other looking at him and himself warming under that gaze. He reasoned with himself that maybe this Fëanorian wouldn’t be such a bad choice – the boy hadn’t been born when the two first kin slayings happened and was not present at the third. He was alone. Elrond and Elros grew and took refuge in each other as they always had. He had no true friends, no family. But he still hesitated.

This afternoon Tinnutiro had acted the same mixture of shyness and desire of late. Erestor’s mount had been startled by some noise and for a moment they were pushed back together into the stall. Tinnutiro held him and Erestor thought they would kiss, but Elros had run in laughing, followed closely by Elrond.

Erestor lay in his bed, eyes closed, and let his hand slip beneath the covers unto his groin. He was already hard, just from the thought of Tinnutiro’s hand burning through his shirt. He started stroking himself, imagining their lips coming closer and closer, Tinnutiro’s hands on his face, but in his waking dream, after the kiss he opened his eyes and saw Maglor.

He immediately stopped stroking. There was an association of thoughts that he had no desire to make. He turned to his side, irritated, and tried to sleep, dismissing the thought of Maglor as an inconvenience derived from the maids’ idle talk. He turned again and again and finally he slept, only to wake up a few hours later from a most obnoxious dream concerning the same subject. He decided to ignore it. His father had warned him that at a certain age one’s imagination ran wild and free. This was nothing but an involuntary reaction of the body and mind to close proximity and speculation.

Morning came and Maglor, true to his habits, went to his rooms right after breakfast. Erestor followed him with his eyes, considering. He had noticed that neither maid nor youth tried to court him or to get him to court them. The same was true of older elves. Maglor was certainly not as handsome as his brother Maedhros but he had a stern beauty, all sharp lines of his face softened by the sad eyes. Erestor wondered if they had tried and been rebuffed or if Maglor had humiliated himself before any of them. But no, if something like that had happened, the gossip would have spread like fire in dry straw and the eldest maid would have certainly mentioned it to the youngest. No Maglor must have simply been his stern self and that had been enough to keep them at bay. Erestor found himself feeling a familiar mix of compassion and satisfaction. He finished breakfast and went about his business.

A few days later he went for his horse again, something giddy agitating his insides at the prospect of meeting Tinnutiro. He was pleased to find the other alone and the stables very quiet. They smiled and danced around each other. Erestor was feeling a tinge of disappointment that nothing would happen when, just as he was preparing to mount, Tinnutiro pulled him close and kissed him. He had been waiting for that for months. He had wondered who would break first, what Tinnutiro would taste like, what he would feel but now he felt only clumsy and purposeless. He broke the kiss and bid Tinnutiro farewell with a sad smile.

He was confused. He had thought of the boy with eagerness, desire, curiosity, loneliness, but now that he was in hand, he felt cold and fearful. And he thought of Maglor, cold too, alone. Of Maglor’s mouth, thin, pale lips, always stern. Certainly not plump and rosy and eager as Tinnutiro’s. But much more desirable, Erestor realised with a start. Of all the subtle ways he had been betraying the dead, this was the worst.

He returned from his errand early. It was still morning but Maglor had insisted that Erestor should deliver the news as soon as he arrived. He went to Maglor’s rooms and after a knock, heard, “Come in.”

Maglor hunched over his writing. To Erestor, it looked like the same papers he had seen in the tent during the voyage, years ago, and some new ones, all scratched and amended.

“The ferrymen say they are willing to lower the price if they have a share of the trade, as you proposed,” Erestor reported.

Maglor nodded. “Good. You handled this well, Erestor.”

He returned his gaze to the scratched sheets. Erestor knew he should leave, but he stood by the table. “What are you working on?” he asked.

“A poem.”

“It looks like it has been amended many times.”

Maglor looked up, with a raised eyebrow. “It was.”

Erestor nodded. It was time to leave, but he stood for a few seconds more. It was clear that Maglor wasn’t interested in discussing the poem.

“How long have you been working on it?”

Maglor set down the quill, faced Erestor, but then dropped his gaze. “For all my life, I think.”

“What’s it about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Maglor turned to the poem and waited for Erestor to leave.

Erestor was free for the rest of the day. He had lunch with the twins and then read for a while, but he was too restless to concentrate for long. He went to the stables. Tinnutiro greeted him with a big smile. Erestor had planned only to get a horse and go out for a while, but Tinnutiro started conversing cheerfully and he stayed. It was patent that the other boy was trying hard to please him and he decided he would let him. Better to think of him than of Maglor. He looked around nervously, but they were alone. Taking Tinnutiro’s hand, he pulled him into an empty stall and stood there before him, lips close enough to kiss. Tinnutiro held his arm and he could feel him trembling. He smiled and kissed him. The kiss grew deeper and deeper until Erestor found himself pushed against the wall, one of Tinnutiro’s legs between his and a very hard cock pressing into his. They broke the kiss and stared at each other, panting. It was too much but not enough. Tinnutiro kissed him again, his tongue eager and much more agile than the day before.

Erestor gasped and pushed Tinnutiro softly.

“I love you,” Tinnutiro said.

Erestor frowned slightly. He could not reciprocate the words or, he suspected, the feeling, but Tinnutiro was kissing him again, and there was no need for words. The kisses were sweet, and the hands grew bolder and they forgot time, until they heard laughter and voices approaching. Maglor had been riding with the twins and they had now returned home. Erestor and Tinnutiro extricated from one another, Tinnutiro languorously, Erestor with his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t want to get caught. He couldn’t stand the thought that Maglor would find out.

He managed to slip from the stables unseen and ran to his room. His cock ached and his head swirled. He grasped himself and pulled brutally until he found painful release. Then he let out a sigh that was more of a sob. “I’m losing my mind,” he said to the walls.

He skipped dinner. The following days he avoided the stables, running his errands on foot, and he waited for the end of the day to report to Maglor. His heart fluttered every time he contemplated what had happened with Tinnutiro and what he wanted to happen with Maglor. He still lied to himself, skillfully, cunningly, but in the end he knew those were idle thoughts. He craved Maglor’s touch. Erestor thought if he avoided Maglor long enough, he would get over it. And he would have to avoid Tinnutiro until he could feel more than what he felt at this moment.

One morning, one of the maids called upon him. “Lord Maglor wishes to see you. He’s in his rooms.”

Erestor nodded and dragged his feet through the halls until he reached the door. He felt more confident now, but still Maglor’s face invaded his dreams at night.

He entered the room. “You wanted to see me?...”

Maglor turned to face him. “Yes.” He gestured for Erestor to sit but Erestor chose to stand.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been somewhat absent. Is anything the matter?”

Erestor swallowed hard. Then he lied. “No.”

He waited for Maglor to give him leave, but Maglor stared at him silently. He felt judged and he feared that he was found lacking. But Maglor didn’t judge people that way.

“You normally don’t lie,” Maglor said at last.

Erestor bit his lip and stood silently, gazing at the wall behind Maglor. Maglor rose from his chair and, in a rare gesture of rapprochement, he placed an arm around Erestor’s shoulders. The touch made Erestor feel like something was breaking inside; he shrugged it off in his confusion, then he reproached himself for pushing Maglor away. And then he congratulated himself for doing what he should.

Maglor simply said, “When you feel like talking, I will be here.” He leaned forward to open the door. The proximity devastated Erestor. He lunged forward and clumsily brushed the corner of Maglor’s lips with his own. Maglor stood back as if thunderstruck.

“I see,” he said after a few moments. He closed the door. “You know that this is wrong in many ways.”

Erestor nodded and lowered his head. Shame was on its way.

“I am far too old for you, and if that didn’t matter, you know the rest.” Maglor paused and when he continued, the edge in his voice was gone “Did you forget what I did, Erestor?”

Erestor made a mental note to tell the maids to clean up the mud splatter he just noticed on Maglor’s rug. He didn’t want to be reminded of that other Maglor whose colours the years had washed away.

“And I think that you are involved with someone else.” Maglor added, sadness seeping into in his voice.

Erestor started: that he wasn’t expecting.

“He has sent his mother to inquire ‘subtly’ with the cook about your precise status and if you would be allowed to live with him. You would be, of course.”

“I don’t want to.” Erestor still stared at the mud but it might as well have never been there.

“Fine, but you must think carefully about this.”

Erestor nodded. Being sent away was not what he had in mind when he had taken that lunge forward. In fact he had thought of nothing. Maglor opened the door and Erestor turned to it slowly, wanting to die, to disintegrate in the air, all the more because it had taken the enemy to remind him of his duties. But he didn’t leave. He pushed the door shut and threw his arms around Maglor’s shoulders, going for a much forceful kiss than the one before. He felt Maglor hesitating, pushing him away softly, and then finally surrendering, his arms wrapping around him. He softened the kiss, played with his tongue and lips, and finally they broke apart.

Maglor avoided his eyes. “You should leave now.”

Erestor felt disappointed, but even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight this war, he was sure he had won a battle. And he was sure that nothing that had passed with Tinnutiro could possibly compare with what he felt now.

The rest of the day was a void. He couldn’t finish one single task and in the end he took refuge in his room, trying to convince himself that Maglor wasn’t indifferent to him. He suffered through dinner, heard the twins’ endless chatter and the stilted opinions of a guest. Erestor thought he saw in Maglor’s eyes the same turmoil that was in him, or at least he prayed that it was so, but Maglor avoided his gaze and only once addressed him.

They retired early, as was custom of the house, but Erestor couldn’t sleep. He walked down the hall and knocked on Maglor’s door. Maglor didn’t tell him to come in, but after an eternity waiting, he opened the door.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Maglor said tiredly, obstructing the doorway.

“Let me in. Please.”

Maglor moved away, making room for Erestor to come in. They stood in silence, examining each other’s face. Erestor broke the silence first. “What you said is true.”

“I know.”

“But I...” But he had rehearsed many things to say and now they had all fled him. He was starting to get awfully familiar with all the stains and patterns in Maglor’s rugs.

“I must apologise for this afternoon,” Maglor interrupted his thoughts. “It was a regrettable display of indulgence. You must not draw any conclusions from it.”

Erestor stared in disbelief. He had drawn them, all right, and he could see where the error was. “You normally don’t lie,” he parroted.

“I am not lying.”

“I think you are.” Erestor drew all he had in him: this would be his last try. He approached Maglor quietly, but steadily, and stood before him, less than one inch apart. Then he placed his hands on Maglor’s flanks, just above the waistband of his sleeping pants. He saw Maglor’s throat moving up and down and he took his chance, closing the distance between their lips. Maglor withdrew slightly at the first contact but Erestor chased him with his lips until they were both involved in a deep kiss.

Erestor couldn’t help but thrust his hips against Maglor’s. He ached for him. But Maglor was soft. Erestor gave nothing to disappointment. He had suspected for long that it wasn’t easy for Maglor, probably because of the sadness and the regret that inhabited him. And he had also heard the jokes made at the expense of older males and their supposed slowness. He would do as the cook had advised the younger maids: he would be patient and take much profit from it.

Maglor tore his lips from Erestor’s, but he couldn’t stay away for long. He kissed him on the cheeks, the nose, the neck, making Erestor squirm against him. Then he pulled away and reached out his hand. “Come,” he said in a throaty voice.

Erestor took the proffered hand and followed meekly. The rooms that had seemed so compact before now were a true maze, but when he saw the unmade bed, it was worth the trip. Maglor resumed kissing him, tenderly, expertly, and led him to the bed. Erestor crawled on his back to make more room and Maglor followed on his hands and knees. His hair fell loose around his face as Erestor had seldom seen. The shadows sharpened his features but Erestor didn’t think them to be hard, not this time. Maglor straddled him and took his shirt off. Then they lay side by side, plying skin with their fingertips. Erestor had no idea his nipples could serve any purpose other than decoration, but he soon learned how to make Maglor’s turn to stone. He touched and teased and kissed. He loved the feel of naked, steel arms around his, and of Maglor’s perfect skin warming his.

He reached his hand down and smiled. Maglor was far from fully erect but he seemed to be harder than before. Maglor returned to his lips, kissing him continuously while an insidious hand loosened Erestor’s laces and pulled his trousers down. He lifted his hips wantonly, delighting in the feel of his heavy cock resting on his belly.

Maglor’s fingers teased and played around it until Erestor was tensing and thrusting against every touch, no matter how feeble. Maglor broke the kiss and smiled. Erestor liked the smile; it was still tinged with the ever-present sadness, but it curved the stern lips beautifully. Maglor lowered his head and started kissing down Erestor’s body. Erestor’s breath caught as he felt the fingers wrapping around him, gentle and strong simultaneously. Maglor’s mouth did sinful things to his nipples, then to his belly button and then the unthinkable. Erestor felt swirls of heat spreading from his cock in waves, then pulsing while Maglor worked his tongue around the head of his shaft, then sucked him deep, then let him loose again. He thought he would die, but he never did. Maglor stopped the teasing altogether and sucked until Erestor came, shouting and sobbing.

The nestled against each other, Maglor occasionally kissing Erestor’s hair. Erestor tried to make any sense of what had happened. Why was it so wonderful? So different from the pale, solitary pleasure? He fell asleep before he could think of an answer.

He awoke in the dark much later. The room was chilly, but Maglor’s warm body beside him made for the most pleasant of contrasts. He felt guilty for having neglected his partner. It would have to wait. Maglor snored slightly. Erestor snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around his lover and fell back to sleep.

In the morning he was half awake when he realised Maglor wasn’t in the room. He heard muffled singing and a harp. That was new. He had only once heard Maglor’s famous voice rising in song, and it had been at his brothers’ funerals. He thought Maglor had quit music altogether.

He searched for his trousers on the floor beside the bed and donned them. Then he tiptoed into Maglor’s work room and saw him surrounded by the sheets of his poem, hunched over his harp. Maglor was composing, that was obvious from the tentative sounds and constant annotations he made.

Erestor decided to interrupt: he sneaked up to Maglor and held him from behind. Maglor tensed briefly but then relaxed in Erestor’s arms.

“Slept well?” he asked.

“Hum-hum.” Erestor kissed Maglor’s cheek. “I’m in your debt, you know,” he pointed out.

Maglor smiled and stroked Erestor’s arm fondly. “One doesn’t keep score in these things.”

“All right,” Erestor conceded. “But do come back to bed.”

Maglor squeezed his arm. “We have work to do,” he said softly.

Erestor let go of him, hurt by the implicit rejection.

“Very well.”

He found his slippers and left for his room to prepare for the day. He was annoyed; he was blissful; and he was light. He had thought of a couple of new excuses to allow room to love a Fëanorian. He knew they weren’t strong arguments but he decided that for once he would live in the moment and enjoy it.

Maglor was elusive for the rest of the day and Erestor started feeling insecure, but after dinner he gathered his courage and knocked on his door again. Maglor opened the door and let him in without a word. He sat on his chair and stared at Erestor.

“I shouldn’t have. I felt lonely,” Maglor said blankly.

“No,” said Erestor.

“Maybe it would be better if you were to spend some time in my brother’s house.”

“No.” Erestor shook his head. He would not be easily discarded.

“Erestor... this is nothing and it will never be something.”

Erestor knelt and held Maglor’s hand. “No,” he insisted. He kissed Maglor’s hand and buried his head in his lap.

“Think of the twins,” Erestor pleaded. “Would you have them separated from me, all that’s left of their home? Or was that the plan from the start?”

“No. You came to me.” Maglor’s voice remained even, but Erestor could feel the steel beneath it.

“And you opened the door. Now let me stay.” Erestor held on tighter to Maglor’s thighs. He held on until he felt a hand running through his hair.

“Couldn’t we forget all about it? You’d be better off with young Tinnutiro.”

“True.”

“And there are things about me... more than the blood. I can never be whole.” Maglor set himself free from Erestor and rose. He walked to the wall and inspected the cracks.

“I know. It doesn’t matter.”

If Maglor was surprised, he didn’t show it. “You don’t know what you say.”

Erestor rose and walked to him, burying his face in the mass of dark hair that ran down the strong back. “Let me try.” His arms snaked around Maglor’s waist and were not pushed away. Erestor dared to hope.

Maglor took a deep breath. “You will regret this. You will.”

Erestor rubbed his face on his back. Yes, he would regret it, already a small part of him regretted and felt the guilt of selling himself and betraying the memories for a bit of tenderness. But he was young and alone and he couldn’t lie to himself and to Tinnutiro: that seemed to be a crueller thing to do.

Maglor took his hands in his. “So be it.”

They went to bed. There was tenderness but not joy and Erestor felt that it was his very essence that Maglor bared before him. Their touching was slower and more deliberate. Maglor gave Erestor room to explore, but didn’t let him touch his sex. Erestor could see it barely aroused through the fine trousers. It hurt his pride, but it was part of the bargain he had made for himself. And it was a challenge that he might not conquer this evening but that he would in the end, he was sure. He just needed time.

To Erestor’s wonder, their bodies seemed to fit perfectly. Details that had been hidden by haste before now shone clearly and they revelled in them. He didn’t stop to wonder why Maglor would enter what was a futile exercise to him. He could understand that any touch was better than the continued loneliness he had vowed himself to. By the time Maglor’s hand had guided Erestor’s to his own cock, Erestor had stopped wondering at all. He felt his lover’s body warm against his back, a strong arm around him, some vague words in the ancient tongue dancing in his heart. Then it was over, and they lay quiet in the dark until they fell asleep.

The next morning mirrored the previous. This time, however, Erestor’s heart was prepared to thaw Maglor’s reserve. He didn’t let himself be hustled out the door to a day that had barely begun. Instead, he sat opposite to Maglor, watching him in his task.

“What is your poem called?” he asked at last.

“I thought I told you I don’t... Ah well... It has had several names along the years, but I think I’ve settled for Noldolantë. That’s the Fall of the Noldor.”

“I know.” Erestor wanted to ask more, but he felt he was already being given more than most people. He longed for intimacy, a greater intimacy than that of the flesh, but he didn’t dare destroy it with too much haste or too much force.

It was mid-morning when he left Maglor’s rooms. He had to run an errand, take some messages to one of the nearby villages. Only when he considered which mount to take did he remember he would have to meet Tinnutiro. He reassured himself: it would be fine, it had been just a little crush and he would manage to make everything well, and they would be friends in the end.

But Tinnutiro turned his face from him when Erestor greeted him with a smile. He handed him the chosen horse, but never looked into his eyes. Erestor tried to strike up a conversation several times but the other took refuge in a solemn silence.

Erestor’s fears were confirmed when Tinnutiro finally lost his patience and broke the silence. “Rumours run fast, don’t you know,” he spat angrily.

“I’m... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t know what you meant and I don’t want to know. But I would ask of you to spare me the polite conversation.”

Erestor stood still while Tinnutiro finished tightening the horse’s saddle. “Can’t we be friends?” he asked at last.

“No.” Tinnutiro turned his back on Erestor and busied himself with the cleaning of the stall.

Erestor left wondering why the choice he made had to have such a high price, one that he truly felt couldn’t have been different. The thoughts wouldn’t abandon him. By nightfall, he had returned to Maglor’s room, eager to talk. He wanted to hear from Maglor about what was never discussed. They were lying in the bed, close and warm, when he shot his question. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” Maglor asked sleepily.

“Swear your oath.”

Maglor recoiled, then sat up, his back turned to Erestor. “I had no choice. It was my father, I could not deny him...”

Erestor felt a surge of anger. “That’s too little. You could have committed perjury at any time.”

“You don’t understand...”

“I don’t.” They sat in silence, Erestor angry and disappointed, Maglor insulating himself in his long-lived grief.

“We are doomed. Me, Maitimo, all my brothers. There is nothing that we can do or not do that will make any difference. My life is a stream of regret, what do I say, it is a river, an ocean. That’s why I write and rewrite the Noldolantë everyday. But if we are tied and there is no hope, at least we won’t be perjurers. This is more than mere stubbornness and blind loyalty, Erestor, but I can’t explain it in a way that a son of another father would see it. Words fail me.”

Erestor didn’t ask the question that burned his mind, for fear of the answer, but he knew it already. Yes, Maglor would have sworn the oath again if he had to. He could not understand it. Greed and obsession were so beyond his father’s nature that he could never ask such a thing of another. But Maglor, who was not bad, had been asked to do such a thing and had done it freely. He would spend the rest of his life regretting what only he and Maedhros thought could not be changed. It was madness.

He lay in the bed, waiting for Maglor to join him. When he finally did, Erestor held him until they slept. He fought a hard battle with the voice that said, “Walk away while there is still time.”

But he couldn’t and wouldn’t. He tried to explain to himself this need he had of Maglor, and why he should want to embrace the enemy and forget the deeds that had changed the course of his life and terminated so many others. He couldn’t force himself to hate Maglor as before, not now when he had witnessed years o